Plum Christmas Epiphany
by Bidwench
Summary: This one is a beast of a different color. It starts out Cupcake, but the majority of the story is Ranger's. It's NOT a RS pairing, so Babes may or may not like it. It's VERY Ranger friendly, but again, not him with Stephanie.
1. Chapter 1

I swung wide into the Tasty Pastry parking lot and gunned the motor in frustration before shutting off the ignition. I directed a particularly nasty Italian hand gesture in the general location of my tattle-tale GPS beacon, and marched my stiletto heels right up to the Tasty Pastry counter. I tapped my nails impatiently on the glass éclair case while the girl behind the counter boxed up my dozen Boston crèmes and determinedly avoided looking at_**that spot**_. It had been seventeen years since Joe Morelli relieved me of my virginity behind that display case, and I swear I could still feel the slick waxed linoleum tiles sliding under my back.

Not going there. Nope. No way.

I pulled out my plastic card and practically flung it at the poor clerk. She was still punching in numbers and swiping the card when I ripped open the box and practically inhaled the first Boston crème. I closed my eyes in ecstasy, feeling the sweet cream fill my mouth, the hint of chocolate at the tip of my tongue. I quickly scrawled my name one-handed on the bottom of the credit card receipt, then took my booty back to the front seat of my car and ensconced myself. The second Boston crème was just as delicious as the first, and like clockwork, my cell phone rang. I rolled my eyes, and didn't bother to check the readout.

I flipped the phone open and snarled, "What are you, the donut police?"

"Babe."

I rolled my eyes again, and realized I was starting to get a headache. Just what was Ranger's all-purpose word supposed to mean THIS time? Admonitory, probably, I decided.

"Don't you have a life? There has to be something more pressing at Rangeman than watching me pull into a donut shop."

"That stuff will kill you, Babe."

"So you keep telling me. At least I'll die happy."

"Just trying to save you from yourself."

"Maybe I don't want saving, Ranger. You ever think of that?" I clicked the phone shut, effectively ending the conversation. Of course, there would be recriminations. I sighed. God forbid the man would actually engage in conversation and have a legitimate knock down drag out argument. Nope. Instead I'd be treated to hours of the silent treatment. The one thing I can't stand is being ignored, and he knew that. He'd use that against me, of course, until I was chasing around after him like some kind of desperate puppy begging forgiveness for daring to disagree with Ranger-the-Almighty.

This time, the eyeroll was directed at myself for being so predictable and pathetic, and I defiantly bit into another Boston crème.

The day had started out innocently enough. I'd rolled out of Ranger's bed at the buttcrack of dawn and stumbled to the elevator. I woke up alone, of course, which was becoming more and more of a habit. Three months ago, when I'd moved into Ranger's apartment, we couldn't keep our hands off of each other. The sex was scorching, and if we didn't have a lot to say to each other before or after, well, I figured that would come as the relationship progressed. Now I kind of smiled sadly at my own naivete. There was no "relationship" with Ranger, there was only Ranger operating within his own established parameters. He called the shots, he controlled the outcome. His turf, his terms. Period.

At first, I had been dazzled. The man had charm to spare, and plenty of flash. The whole tightly-leashed control thing had been a real turn on. A version of the same barely-controlled masculinity was what had initially drawn me to Joe for all those years. The difference was, of course, that the real challenge of the relationship was demolishing those emotional walls, making the man with legendary control lose that control, just with me.

Only with Ranger, it had never happened. I was still just as firmly outside his mind as I had ever been. The more I tried to get close to him, the farther away he pushed me. I began to feel like another piece of expensive workout equipment. Ranger pushed his body on the equipment to keep it functioning at peak physical capacity. Sometimes it felt like he pushed his sexual endurance with me for the same reason. After awhile, I began to feel empty. After awhile, I began to feel used.

And he didn't seem to notice when I drew back. Or care.

He was busy with Rangeman, I'll give him that. He had meetings, he reassured clients, he was very, very good at his job. But his life existed within that seven story building on Haywood. It hummed and functioned like a well-oiled machine, or an extension of Ranger's well-maintained body. He liked it there, he was safe there, in control.

But for me, it had started to feel like a prison. I woke up in the morning, alone, because Ranger was working, or traveling, or just somewhere else. I went to an empty kitchen that was stocked with nutritious, wholesome food that I loathed. If I wasn't down in the gym by 7:00, Tank was banging on the door to drag me down there for a workout I didn't enjoy. Back to the showers, then at my desk staring into the computer screen by 8:30. When I'd balked at the enforced regimentation, Ranger had disappeared for three days. I'd been so worried that I'd giddily greeted him and fallen into bed, and gone along with "the program" like a good little trained dog.

The Not-So-Merry-Men seemed content to live their lives within the constraints Ranger set. They lived at work, and worked where they lived, and it didn't seem to bother them. I can't pinpoint exactly when it was that the GPS started to bother me, but it did. Sometimes, I just wanted to be free. I wanted to get out of that stultifying building and just drive. Go somewhere unexpected, just because I wanted to. And I wanted to do it without being tracked. I wanted to go to the mall and go shopping by myself, without Lester or Hal, or Cal, or some other generic hulking male in tow to "keep me safe". I'd tried to talk to Ranger about it, but he just "Babed" me and patiently explained that these steps were necessary to keep me safe.

So I was safe.

My mother had tried to keep me safe. And somehow, the gilded cage of Ranger's building was just as much of a prison as the Burg life my mother had tried to force on me. And after three months, it had begun to chafe just as much.

I drove around the Burg aimlessly for awhile, just enjoying being out in the crisp winter air. Alone. No body guards, no schedule. I'd walked out of Rangeman today without saying a word to anyone. Halfway through my daily workout with Tank, rebellion had suddenly taken over. I hadn't even known I was leaving until my keys were in my hand. I had ignored the barrage of questions that had bounced off my retreating back. I felt a twinge of guilt, since I knew "the guys" would catch hell from Ranger for letting me leave without ascertaining where I was going, and when, and why, and without submitting a typewritten itinerary in triplicate, but I just got enough. I had to get out of there or the place was going to smother me.

The phone chirped again.

"Yo."

"Look, I don't have the manpower to have someone tracking you all day while you drive nowhere."

Agitated. He wasn't happy. There was a time I would have seen it as progress that I'd gotten under his skin enough to irritate him. I smiled grimly. Too little, too late. I no longer cared enough to want to get a reaction out of him. He'd tried to shut me away in an emotion-free zone, and I wasn't willing to play the game any more.

"No problem," I said breezily, and disconnected, flipping the phone to voice mail.

Then I savagely twisted the GPS tracker off and tossed it out the window. The cold winter air felt like snow, and I let it wash over me, heightening my senses after I'd been stuck in the monotony of Haywood for so long. I felt truly free for the first time in months. I drove to my parents' without hesitation. I hadn't seen them in several weeks—I had bought into the line that there was no one available to escort me to their house, and of course, Ranger flatly refused to spend time with my family. I sighed and shook my head at my own stupidity. I'd bought into the control thing for so long, I'd stopped even questioning it. I'd chosen to let Ranger control my life, let him isolate me from my family, my friends, but no more.

I knew for certain that I didn't want to live my life on my mother's terms, but I was also unwilling to live it on Ranger's terms either. Time to be a grownup, Stephanie, and stop letting other people call the shots. I needed to stop reacting to everyone else, and figure out what I wanted for myself.

Luckily, Rangeman paid well, and living with Ranger had allowed me to bank some serious savings for the first time since I'd worked at E.E. Martin. I could take some time to regroup and decide what I wanted to do with my life.

The first thing I wanted, I decided, was lunch. The Boston crèmes weren't sitting so well, and the sugar overload was making me a little bit queasy. Sugar was a wonderful thing, but dessert was definitely out as the base of my food pyramid. I pulled into the driveway and hurried up the walk, the cold nipping at my heels. I let myself in through the front, door and called out a loud "Hello," as I stomped the feeling back into my feet.

"Stephanie! What a surprise!" My mother looked shocked to see me, and Grandma was right behind her. I decided I would never again stay away so long that my mere presence for lunch made my mother goggle-eyed.

"Hey, Mom. Is that minestrone I smell?" I asked hopefully.

"Well, it's Thursday," she said, by way of explanation. I counted back, and realized she was right. The sameness of the days at Haywood Street had made time a blur.

"Right," I answered. "Thursday's minestrone, and Friday's pot roast." My mother gave me a "duh" look and went to retrieve another bowl from the kitchen. I loved the predictability of my mother's menus without having any desire to emulate it myself. Except for the ubiquitous peanutbutter and olive sandwiches, I decided I would let whim dictate my food choices. Lucky for me, I still had the familiarity of my mother's cooking to fall back on when I wanted.

And I would never again touch tofu or sprouts. Ever.

There. I'd made one decision about my life already. I would eat what I wanted to, when I wanted to, and right now that meant a bowl of my mother's minestrone soup. I sniffed appreciatively. Tomato. Basil. Plenty of garlic. The smells of my childhood assaulted me, and I wallowed in it.

We sat at my mother's table for hours, we three generations of women, and I wallowed in that too. I loved the connected-ness, the bonds that held me fast. In the slanting light of that winter afternoon, I made another decision. I decided I didn't have to live my mother's life in order to be part and parcel of my upbringing. The Burg would always be part of me, and I would always be part of it, but I had the power to choose the parts of it I would keep as part of my life. I didn't have to let anyone else dictate to me how to live my life.

I smiled and let my mother's words pass over me like warm water, lapping at the edges of my consciousness. She barely paused for breath, so long had I been gone. So long since I'd sat at her table just listening to the ebb and flow of life in the Burg. I learned who had a baby, who was separated. Who was getting married, who was sleeping around, who had started drinking again. Who had a new car, new curtains, new furniture, who'd lost an old job, an old spouse. My grandmother's voice joined at set intervals, adding to the litany. Who had died, who was sick, who had a boob job, who filed for divorce. It was all as familiar to me as my own face in the mirror, and I'd missed it so much.

I told Mom I'd moved out on Ranger, and she poured me another cup of coffee. I asked if I could stay in my old room while I looked for a new apartment, and she and Grandma went upstairs nattering about sheets and dust covers while I braved the cold and retrieved my duffle from the car. I'd let my apartment go when I'd broken things off with Joe and moved in with Ranger, and most of my things were in storage. Somehow, there had never been room for my old life in the new life with Ranger. I should have realized the implications sooner, of course, but I was determined to prove Joe wrong. He'd warned me I wouldn't be happy, but I wouldn't listen. Then things had gotten ugly. Joe had told me he'd waited half his life for me to grow up and figure out what I wanted, but he wasn't going to wait any more. I'd thrown back that what he was really waiting for was me to want what HE wanted. He'd gone cold then, and it scared me. All the heat had left him between one breath and the next. He'd looked at me like he'd never seen me before. "Do you really think that about me?" he asked, and his voice was so quiet I could barely hear him. I'd wanted to tell him that of course I didn't think that. But guilt was nipping at my heels—guilt over the way I'd treated Joe. I shoved my finer feelings aside and decided it was better if it was just a clean break with Joe. That way, I reasoned, I didn't have to face up to a lot of things. It was easier that way. "You aren't going to be happy in that cell over on Haywood," he threw at me as I walked out the door. I didn't even look back. I couldn't.

Joe had been right. About a lot of things. I wasn't happy at Haywood, and it did feel like a cell. And hormone-driven sex wasn't a substitute for love and a relationship. It was easier sometimes, not having to be emotionally accountable to another person, but it left me feeling empty and alone, even when I was in bed with someone else. And work acquaintances couldn't take the place of friends or family, either, I finally admitted, if only to myself. I'd missed this. I'd missed my family, my friends, my life.

But I was going to get it back. All of it.

I took my coffee cup with me into the livingroom. I eased myself into my time-honored corner of the overstuffed couch, and the smell of fresh pine overwhelmed me. I stared at the naked tree in consternation, and did some quick mental arithmetic. Two days till Christmas. How had I let that sneak up on me? I had copious packages due to arrive at the Rangeman building, all safely ordered from the anonymity of a computer screen. They would arrive neatly wrapped and bundled, seemingly without the touch of human hands.

Suddenly, I craved that human connection. I wanted to bump into other last minute shoppers at the mall, and listen to canned Christmas music. I wanted to fight for parking spaces and slide over Jersey's grime-coated snow in the parking lot. I wanted the adrenaline rush of grabbing the very last sweater in my sister's size, or find that perfect pair of gloves for my father hiding behind a stash of women's handbags. I wanted to feel dull scissors ripping their way through cheesy wrapping paper and get the scotch tape stuck all over. I wanted lumpy, bumpy presents with mismatched bows instead of the perfectly wrapped sterile presents I'd dutifully ordered from the catalogs Ranger had presented me. I grabbed my car keys and hollered up the stairs to let my mother and grandma know where I was going. It wasn't high tech, and it wasn't a GPS tracker, but it was infinitely warmer and more comfortable. My mother's head appeared at the top of the stairs. "Are you coming back for dinner?" Thursday night. Cabbage rolls. Ugh.

"I'll grab something while I'm out, Mom. I gotta finish my Christmas shopping." She rolled her eyes at me, and I decided not to mention the catalog presents. I just gave her a little finger wave and she smiled back at me, happy to have me here, disorganized and late on my shopping as usual. God, it was good to be home.

My perspective wasn't quite so rosy the next morning as I listened to my father and Grandma Mazur square off over the bathroom. My bladder was about to burst, and I just wished they'd both shut the hell up and actually use the damn bathroom instead of argue about it. I opened my door and peeked through the crack. Grandma and Daddy were standing in the hallway bitching fit to raise the dead, but the bathroom door was open. I made a mad dash in between them and slammed the door shut. The silence from the other side of the closed door was ominous, but my bladder was too relieved to care. I could wait for a shower, but I couldn't wait another minute to pee.

I smiled innocently at them both as I sashayed back out of the bathroom and climbed back into my warm bed. I knew from past experience that by the time both of them finished in the bathroom and the water heater refilled, I'd have at least another hour to sleep. Lovely. No tofu, no workout, and no Tank. I luxuriated in the thought and pulled the covers back up over my head.

Later that afternoon, I sat in my car and considered the apartment I'd just looked at. It was bigger than my old place, and newer. The dishwasher was a plus, and there wasn't a sign of avocado green or burnt orange in the bathroom. The only drawback I could see was it was only half a block from the park where Joe and I used to walk Bob. I pulled my Pino's sub from the bag and took a bite. It might seem like a stupid thing, but it felt pretty important to me. Could I take living every day in a place where I might see Joe and Bob? Or worse, what if Joe found out I lived there and started avoiding me? I hadn't run into him once in the three months since I'd broken things off with him, so it was pretty clear he didn't want to see me. Did I want to impinge on Joe and Bob's space like that? I gnawed my lip then took another bite. God, I had missed Pino's. I licked the marinara from my fingers and leaned back against the headrest.

I saw the orange blur in the distance as it streaked past the left side of my car. I smiled sadly. Speak of the devil. Bob was in fine form, dancing his goofy little dance and romping up and down the walking path. My breath caught as I saw Joe walk into view: black jeans, dark leather jacket, with his hair wild in the winter wind. He turned to say something to the person behind him. I scrunched low in my seat as the woman took his arm and laughed, looking him full in the face. Into his beautiful, smiling face. The Pino's sub turned to stone in my gut as I watched Joe reach up and brush the snow from her long, dark hair. I closed my eyes and my gut clenched, and a wave of sorrow hit me like a sledgehammer. Oh, God. What had I done? Mesmerized, I forced my eyes open and watched Joe and the woman slowly walk with Bob. She was pretty, with soft brown eyes and a sweet face. Her hair was long and blew in the breeze. She looked at Joe like he had hung the moon, and I twisted in agony. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't watch any more. My eyes were blurred with tears as I started the car, and quietly backed away. Neither of them looked my way as I slowly pulled out of the parking lot, too caught up in each other and Bob's antics to pay me any notice.

I unloaded the last of my Christmas gifts on autopilot, and sat through Christmas eve dinner without tasting anything. My mother shot me a worried glance, and I told her truthfully that it had been a really exhausting couple of days, and that I thought I'd go lie down for a little while. I just wanted to be alone and come to grips with my misery by myself. She reminded me about midnight mass, and I nodded. Maybe I'd find some peace in the quiet rituals of the mass, because I sure wouldn't find it anywhere else. My heart ached for Joe and my own lost chance. He'd obviously moved on, and I couldn't even bring myself to hate the girl. She obviously knew a good thing when she had it, unlike me. I finally cried myself to sleep.

My dreams were wicked things, biting and bitter. I'd chased imaginary lights through endless tunnels that dead-ended, leaving me alone in the cold dark. I'd run screaming through them, then, battering my fists on stone walls until I could feel the blood running down my arms, screaming until my throat was too swollen to make a sound. Finally, finally, there was a gray and misty light at the end of one of the tunnels and I ran for it gratefully. The tunnel opened out onto the park where I'd sat today. Just off to the left, Bob ran past me, just as he had earlier today. I turned to look. Joe was there, wearing the same jeans and leather jacket, hair just as wind-tossed as it had been earlier. He turned to say something to the person behind him, and the woman with the long dark hair, came into view. She was pushing a blue stroller and laughing up into Joe's face. I floated over to the stroller, but neither Joe nor the woman could see me. I pushed aside the blankets and saw the baby inside the stroller, and my throat closed up. I knew with everything in me that baby was my son. Just then, a dark haired little girl toddled up and raised her arms to Joe. Smiling into her chubby face, he picked her up and tossed her into the air, and I heard the woman laugh, a low, satisfied sound. The little girl with her curly brown pigtails reached out her hands with a big smile. I felt my own face soften in response, and reached out to take her, my own sweet daughter. In that moment, I remembered the feel of her heavy in my womb, the tiny movements of her delicate arms and legs while she was still inside my body, I remembered the feel of her skin when they laid her on my belly, wet and warm, for the very first time. I remembered her first smile, her first tooth, the sight of her sleeping in her father's arms, his beard-shadowed cheek next to the smooth milkiness of hers. I ached to hold her in my arms, smell the sweet baby scent of her hair, nuzzle the silk of her neck.

She reached past me, and the woman with the long dark hair held her close, smelled her hair, nuzzled her neck. My heart ripped free from my chest, and I screamed. Loud and long, past the constriction in my throat, I screamed until I had no breath left, and sat blinking in the light of my bedroom, my mother's worried face in the doorway.

I struggled for breath, but I couldn't stop sobbing—deep, tearing things that felt like they would literally take me apart. My mother started to come into the room, but I held up a hand. I scrambled madly for my purse and said, "I have to go. I have to go." She tried to question me, but I couldn't think, couldn't talk past the waves of pain that were battering me. I only knew I had to get out of that house. I had to get to Joe before it was too late.

I have no memory of driving from my parents to Joe's house on Slater. I was just suddenly there, my car in front of his driveway, blocking him in, my chest heaving, barely able to draw breath. I threw open the car door, and left it hanging wide, my keys still in the ignition and the lights still burning. I pounded on the door, then pounded some more. I was frantic. I had to get inside to Joe. Joe could make everything all right. I just had to get through the door. I pounded again, both fists, leaning against the door since my legs refused to hold me.

The door swung open, and I fell in a heap at Joe's feet. "What the hell?" he started to speak. He reached down and took my elbow to help me to my feet, and that one single touch suddenly filled me with fury. I kicked out at him, and caught him right below the knee. He yelped and went down and I was on him. I was slapping at him with both my hands, pummeling him, and all the time I was screaming. "How could you! How could you!"

"What in the hell are you talking about?" Joe was trying to hold onto my flailing arms, but I could still get in a stray smack once in awhile.

"I saw you! I saw you in the park today. With Bob." I sobbed. "And then I saw you again later. With the STROLLER!" I accused. "You gave her my babies, Joe! How could you do that? How could you???" I was building to a high crescendo again.

"They were my babies, Joe. Mine and yours. And you gave them to her." I was sobbing uncontrollably, brokenly. "You gave her my babies, Joe." Suddenly all the fight went out of me, and I just curled up on the floor. "I want my babies," I whispered, and the tears just kept flowing.

I felt his arms close around me and cried even harder. I wanted to lose myself in his arms, for all the pain and hurt to just dissolve around us. "Shhh. It's okay," his voice was quiet and soothing. "I won't let anyone take your babies, Cupcake. It's okay."

I sat up on his lap and looked at him. "You promise? You won't give away my babies?" I knew if Joe promised, he would do it. If he said he wouldn't give away my babies, then he wouldn't.

"I won't give anyone else your babies."

I wrapped my arms around his neck and held on for all I was worth. "Okay," I breathed against the side of his neck. He smelled like Joe. I inhaled his scent like it was everything to me, and I guess it was.

He brushed my hair back and looked at my tear-ravaged face. "Do you want to tell me what's going on?" he asked gently.

I took a deep breath. This was it. I had blown it so many times, this was undoubtedly my very last chance to make things right with Joe. I was scared to death of saying the wrong thing. Now that I was starting to calm down, I worried that he would laugh, or send me packing. I could see the cold veneer of the cop face slide down over his features as he saw my hesitation. That last flicker of vulnerability I had seen in his eyes coupled with those phantom babies pulling at my heartstrings sent me over the edge. If I made a fool of myself, so be it. But guarding my pride had gotten me nowhere. At least nowhere I wanted to be.

"I saw you today. In the park, with Bob," I started. "And a woman." I broke off for a minute, then forced myself to continue. "I was looking for an apartment." His eyebrows raised at this, but he didn't interrupt me. "Then later tonight, I fell asleep. And I dreamed I was back at the park, only you couldn't see me or hear me." The next part was hard, because my feelings were still raw. "And instead of being there with just Bob, the woman was pushing a baby stroller and there was a little baby boy in it. And I knew it was my baby." I blinked back some tears. "Then a little girl came up to you, and you picked her up, and…." My voice squeaked to a halt, and I felt my chest constrict. I couldn't breathe. I forced in some air and continued, "And I reached for her… Oh, God!" I put my head down and waited for my tears to subside. "I remembered. I remembered carrying her, and how she felt in my arms. I remembered everything, only I reached for her, and she didn't see me. She went to the woman. The woman who became her mother. And it wasn't me." I was sobbing again and I choked out the words. "They were my babies, Joe. Mine and yours. Only some other woman was their mother, and it was all my fault. It wasn't your fault, Joe," I cried. "I'm sorry I hit you. I'm so sorry. It was my fault. It was my fault, not yours. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry for everything." I cried into his shirt, great wracking sobs, and his hands moved gently over my back, soothing me.

Finally, after what seemed like hours but was probably only a few minutes, I started to calm down. Embarassed, I realized what I had done. "Jeez, Joe, I'm sorry," I started to apologize. I hadn't seen him in months, then I'd shown up on his doorstep in an emotional frenzy and started beating on him, screaming about phantom children that I'd never have. The ache was still strong, but my initial adrenaline rush had faded, leaving me feeling exposed and stupid.

"Be sure of what you want, Stephanie," Joe voice was low and deadly serious. "Be sure, because I can't keep doing this." His voice cracked, and I looked up into his face. His eyes were melted chocolate, but so sad, and so weary. I reached my hand up to cradle the side of his face.

"I want you, Joe." He shook his head, and I continued. What the hell. I was already at rock bottom, and I had nothing left to lose.

"I want you," I continued. "And I want to wake up with you every morning and feel your arms around me, and smell Ivory soap and laundry detergent and really good sex. And I want to see the sun coming in Aunt Rose's curtains. And I want to curl up on the couch wearing your sweats and watch football. I want Pino's subs and your mother's manicotti. I want to watch your hair turn silver and your laugh lines get deeper. I want to watch you teach that little boy to throw a football, and I want to watch you go all cop-faced when that little girl brings home her first boyfriend. I want my life. I want my life with you, Joe. That's what I want."

"Are you sure?" Joe's face was hard and controlled. "Are you sure this is what you want.

I nodded. "I love you Joe. I want to marry you. That's what I want. I know I've blown it, and if you've moved on to someone else, I'll try to respect that and wish you well. Really."

"The hell you say."

"What?"

"Wish me well, hell, Stephanie. That's why you came in here like a screaming banshee hollering about me giving away your babies, because you were going to wish me well?"

"Hey," I started. Here I was trying to be all noble, and he was giving me a hard time.

Suddenly he threw back his head and laughed. I felt the anger rise in me like a red tide.

"Listen here, Joe Morelli," my finger jabbed into her sternum and I drew a deep breath, ready to rip him limb from limb.

"God, I've missed you, Cupcake," He pulled me close and murmured into my hair. "I can't let you go again." His arms tightened around me. "Do you hear me?"

"I hear you," I said meekly, and snuggled into his chest.

"Jesus Christ!" he exclaimed, looking at his watch. "My mother is gonna kill me."

"What?"

"It's ten minutes till midnight mass, and I promised her I'd be there."

I grinned slowly up at Joe. "I'll give you your present when we get back," I promised.

"Damn straight you will. Now come on." He swatted me on the behind and steered me toward the door. "Wait!" he yelled, and thundered up the stairs.

I shook my head at him. He came running back down the stairs with a small box in his hand. "Here," he said, and unceremoniously shoved a ring on my left hand.

"What—"

"I bought it the first time around, but I'm damned if I'm letting you out of this house without a ring on your finger. You got me, Stephanie? This time it's for real. No changing your mind, no moving in and out, I'm done. Yes?"

I nodded.

"Say 'yes', Stephanie."

"Yes."

"Yes, you'll wear the ring? Yes, you'll marry me? Yes, we'll have babies?""

I grinned. "Yes. Yes, yes, yes, yes to all of it."

"Well, okay then." He gave me the patented Morelli smile, and I couldn't resist a quick kiss.

"Come on, Morelli. Midnight mass only comes once a year, and we're going to have both sets of mothers mad at us if we don't get a move on."

"Not once they see the ring." He was smug, damn him, but he was also right.


	2. Chapter 2

I practically skipped down Joe's front steps, then just about fell on my ass as my booted feet slipped and slid in the new-fallen snow. I grabbed the railing to steady myself and laughed. I was euphoric. At that point, I would have laughed at anything. For the first time in a lot of years, I felt at peace. Happy. No second-guessing myself, no on again, off again. I knew with absolute certainty that I was making the right decision. I peeked at Joe through my lashes as he struggled with the sticky lock on the front door, and imagined how many times I would see him just that way over the years.

"What?" He shot me an exasperated look.

"Just enjoying the view," I grinned.

"Well, okay then." He grabbed me in a bear hug and lifted me down off the bottom step. I wrapped my arm around his waist as his arm came around my shoulder and we started off down the driveway. It felt so easy, so natural, so innately right to be wrapped in the shelter of his arm like this. I sighed, then glanced down at my car.

Uh oh.

Not such a good idea. I felt my euphoria evaporate. The door still stood open, but my headlights were giving off a faint orangey-brown glow. Not good. And I was parked squarely behind Joe's Explorer.

"Uh, Joe?"

Joe turned to look at the car, and started to laugh.

"It's not funny!" I exclaimed, and went to smack him on the arm.

He caught my hand easily, then brought it to his mouth and kissed the tips of my fingers. I could still feel him smiling against my fingers. "Yeah, it is."

I sighed in resignation. "Okay, it's funny. But I was in a hurry," I explained.

I could see Joe's eyes darken, even in the dim light of the street lamps. "Yeah, you were." He gathered me close. "Thank God." He kissed me on the temple, then captured my hand with his. "Come on. We'll walk." He made a quick stop to shut off my diminished headlights. He stuffed my keys in his front pocket, and locked and closed the door, ignoring the snow that had drifted onto the car seat.

"Joe, we are going to be so late," I protested. "I'm sor—"

Joe stopped my protests with a kiss. "No apologies. We start from now, okay?" He looked so intent, so sincere, so inherently _**Joe**_ that I started to tear up. I swallowed and just nodded, not trusting my voice.

Joe nodded once, then started off at a brisk pace toward the church.

"We're never going to make it," I warned.

"Oh, ye of little faith," quipped Joe. "This is the season for miracles, Cupcake. Don't you believe?"

"In miracles?" I wrinkled my nose at him.

"I believe," he said.

"Yeah?" I scoffed.

"Yeah," he said. "I opened my door on Christmas Eve, and you fell into my arms. Now you're wearing my ring." He shrugged, and I loved the way the leather bunched around his shoulders in the moonlight. "Me and God, we're tight." He gave me a wink, but he was part serious too.

"Well, okay then," I snuggled up next to him and walked faster. "Let's get to mass, because not even God can save you from the wrath of your mother if you stand her up."

He looked pained, "You know it, Cupcake. Get a move on…" We started running, slipping and sliding through the snow, and laughing like a couple of kids. And Joe was right, we were the last ones into the vestibule before they shut the doors. We were out of breath and red-faced from the cold, but Joe had never looked more handsome to me. He quickly dipped his fingers into the bowl of holy water and sketched the sign of the cross, then moved out of the way so I could do the same. I pulled off my hat and stuffed it unceremoniously into the pocket of my coat. Joe hadn't bothered with a hat, and I could see the snowflakes melting in his hair before he ran impatient fingers through it. I smiled and smoothed down the unruly locks in the back. He grinned over his shoulder and reached back to take my hand, pulling me behind him as he went up the aisle.

Joe had spotted his mother and Grandma Bella in the center section, about halfway to the altar and towed me along behind him. I looked frantically around for my family, wanting to at least give them a wave, but instead my eye was caught and held by the young woman Joe had been with in the park today. He breezed past her, obviously not even seeing her there on the end of one of the side pews, and her face fell when she noticed the possessive way Joe held on to me. Joe pulled me along behind him as he settled into place beside his mother and kissed her cheek, but I couldn't stop looking at the woman with the long, dark hair. She looked so bereft and sad. I closed my eyes in sympathy. Chalk up another victim to Hurricane Stephanie, I thought. That poor woman hadn't done anything except fall for Joe, and I couldn't fault her for that. She might be my latest hapless victim, but I vowed she would also be my last. I hated it that someone innocent had been hurt by my actions. Joe followed the line of my sight, and mouthed an almost silent, "Shit."

His mother and I both elbowed him at the same time and whispered in unison, "Don't swear in church!" He rolled his eyes heavenward, and slid his right arm possessively around my shoulder. His left hand reached over and captured mine, and he absently toyed with the ring he had placed on my finger before we left the house. It caught the candlelight and winked conspirationally at us. I smiled and leaned over close to his ear. "It's like our own Christmas star," I whispered. "It's beautiful."

"You're beautiful," he responded without hesitation, and brought my fingers to his lips for a quick kiss. I smiled. I probably looked like a sap, but I didn't care. I peeked over Joe's shoulder to see if I could spot my parents or Grandma Mazur. My eyes slid over the crowd, and finally located my father by his height. Half a dozen rows back and more toward the center than the Morellis, I caught my father's eye and waved. He nudged my mother and pointed in my direction. Here eyes widened, and she pointed out the seat she had saved for me. I sent her a big smile, and flashed my ring in her direction, inclining my head toward Joe. Her eyes got huge, and both hands came up to cover her mouth. I laughed quietly at her reaction. Poor Mom. She'd waited forever for this, and now here she was stuck in church on Christmas Eve and not able to move.

Not so MaryLou. I heard a poorly muffled squeal, and then a huge commotion from the row behind us as MaryLou began unceremoniously clambering over any and everyone in her way. She knocked over Mr. Markowitz's cane and practically sat on top of Marlene from the Cut N Curl, then threw herself at me and squeezed the air out of my lungs. "Why didn't you tell me?" she whispered. MaryLou never could whisper, even when we were kids, and her voice carried easily over the top of the music. I shrugged, and tried to shush her, but it was hopeless. "When did you get engaged?" she demanded.

"Jeez, MaryLou, give it a rest. We got engaged like twenty minutes ago, okay? You didn't miss anything. Get back over there with Lenny and we'll talk to you after." Joe was turning a little pink around the ears, and everyone within earshot was unashamedly eavesdropping. Mrs. Morelli was looking daggers at Joe, and I edged in front of him.

"And when were you planning on telling your mother, Joseph?" Oh, boy. First of all, she was using his full name, and second of all, she was referring to herself in the third person. In my experience, when it comes to mothers, that's not good. I squeezed a little closer in front of Joe to protect him from his mother's wrath.

"Really, Mrs. Morelli," I explained. "It happened really fast. We got engaged, and came right here to tell you." I smiled ingratiatingly and hoped for the best. We were in church, and Angie Morelli was a devout woman. If she was going to kill me, I didn't think she would do it on holy ground.

Her brown eyes shot over to me, then suddenly filled with tears. "My Joseph's getting married," she exclaimed. She leaned over to pinch his cheek, and if it left a little bit of a red mark, all things considered it could have been a lot worse.

Grandma Bella leaned around Mrs. Morelli. "I see children," she started, her wrinkled old face looked truly frightening in the exaggerated shadows of the candle light.

"Yes, I know," I interrupted. "A girl first, and then a boy. I've seen them, too."

Bella goggled at me, then smiled beatifically. "Just so," she said, and subsided into the pew.

The procession began then, and we were kept busy answering the priest and doing what MaryLou and I had once termed "Catholic Calisthenics". We knelt and stood at appropriate intervals, and the well-remembered words tumbled over me as I sat in the church pew so close to Joseph. I have to admit that my mind wasn't on the liturgy, but sitting next to Joe in the church where we'd both made First Communion and attended mass on high holy days felt innately right. A young mother jiggled a small baby a few rows in front of us, then settled him up on her shoulder. His bright blue eyes looked around the dimly lit church in wonder, then settled on me. I smiled at him, and gave him a tiny wave, and he rewarded me with a big, toothless grin. I chuckled quietly in response, and ran my hand down my still-flat stomach. Next year, I thought dreamily.

Joe leaned down toward me. "What?" he asked.

I inclined my head toward the still-grinning baby. "Next year," I whispered, aloud this time. "Next year, that will be us."

He nodded solemnly and looked down at me with his heart in his eyes. We both teared up, just a little bit, and he squeezed my hand. "Can't wait," he said quietly.

"Me, neither." I squeezed my eyes shut and categorically refused to think about making babies with Joe. I was in _**church**_, for God's sake. God would strike me dead, I knew He would. Think about trees, Stephanie. No, that wouldn't work. Trees were too phallic. Watermelons, then. Think about watermelons. I bet I'd look like I'd swallowed a watermelon when I was pregnant with Joe's baby. No watermelons. Cars. Think about cars. Yeah, right. All I could remember was Joe in the backseat of Uncle Sandor's Buick. Please, God, help me out here, I prayed.

Finally, the priest dismissed us with a blessing, and we began to file out of the pews. Okay, that would work. Since I obviously couldn't control my errant thoughts, God would just end church. I wasn't going to quibble.

The church was crowded, and the aisles were choked with people. Unfortunately, I lack Joe's people-moving skills, and I was leading the way out of the pew, and not very effectively. Suddenly, I found myself nose to nose with the woman from the park. "Excuse me," I said, ineffectually.

"Hello, Joe," she said quietly, looking over my shoulder, her eyes never wavering from Joe's face.

"Hello, Kathleen." He gestured toward me. "I'd like you to meet my fiancée, Stephanie." Her eyes widened at the word, and her eyes grew moist, but I'll give her credit. She didn't let the tears fall.

"It's nice to meet you, Kathleen. Joe's said wonderful things about you," I lied. I wanted to give her a chance to collect herself.

"Has he?" she asked, disbelieving. "Well, congratulations to you both."

"Thank you," Joe said quietly.

"If you'll excuse me, I need to go," she was desperately trying to get away before she lost it in front of us, I could tell.

"Of course," I replied. "Joe, why don't we wait until things are less crowded, since we're in no hurry?" Joe looked at me like worms were crawling out of my ears. I knew darn good and well I wasn't the only one anxious to get home from mass, but we needed to give Kathleen a little space. I nudged him and gave him a significant look.

"Of course," he murmured, and led me back into a random pew. Kathleen turned away and began making a path to the door. Her shoulders were sagging and I could tell she was holding herself together by sheer force of will.

"I hate that," said Joe, looking after her.

"Me, too," I replied.

"She's a nice woman," Joe explained, and I nodded agreement. She would be. "I didn't mean to hurt her like this."

"I know, Joe. If it's anybody's fault, it's mine," I sighed.

Joe shook his head. "It's not anybody's fault, Stephanie," he said seriously. "It just happens sometimes. I refuse to feel guilty because the woman I love came back into my life."

"I love you, Joe." I couldn't remember if I'd told him that tonight in all the excitement. It's funny how easily the words slipped out now.

"Love you too, Cupcake." He looked around the thinning crowd. "Let's get out of here," he growled, and treated me to a lecherous look.

I was still laughing when he helped me into my coat and I pulled my pocket. He settled my hat atop my unruly curls, and grabbed my hand as we made for the vestibule doors.

"There you are!" My mother's voice stopped us cold. Sheesh, how could I have forgotten my own mother? I guess I shouldn't have been surprised. If Joe could get me thinking carnal thoughts in the middle of Christmas Eve mass, thoughts of my poor mother didn't stand a chance. I wanted Joe naked, thank you very much. Right now!

"Stephanie, are you sure you're all right?" Her voice was laced with concern. "You were so upset earlier."

"I'm fine," I answered, and gave her a reassuring smile.

"You're sure?" She was still worried, and I guess my screaming run from the house would have been enough to shake anyone.

"Yes," I answered, hoping if I kept my answers short, Joe and I could make a break for it.

"And you two are really getting married?" She asked, looking from my face to the ring on my finger, and back again.

"Yes," I answered again.

Joe grinned, and I could see the devil dancing behind his eyes. "She's been saying that a lot lately," he joked. I laughed and threw myself into his arms, not even caring that my parents and Grandma Mazur were standing right there. He wrapped his arms around me and kissed me soundly, right there on the church steps.

"Well, then," harrumphed my Dad.

Joe turned to meet his eyes, suddenly all serious. "Sir, I love your daughter very much, and I'll do my best to make her happy," he said. My Dad nodded, and they awkwardly shook hands. Then Dad clouted Joe on the shoulder. He hesitated another moment, and wrapped his arms around Joe and they gave each other the patented two-thump man-hug.

"You be good to my girl," my Dad finally said.

"Yes, sir."

"You two need a ride?" That was my Dad, all business.

Joe shook his head. "It's a nice night. We'll walk."

"I'll see you tomorrow," my mother promised, and I nodded my agreement.

"Nice package," whispered my Grandmother. She's from the MaryLou school of whispering, and Joe's ears turned pink.

"I know," I whispered back, just as loud. "And it's all mine!" She cackled merrily and went off with my mother and father, tottering her way to the car.

"And just what are you going to do with your package, little girl," Joe whispered seductively in my ear.

"Oh, I have a LOT of ideas," I murmured against his mouth. I felt Joe stiffen and his eyes grew distant.

"There's a black SUV across the street," he said, completely emotionless.

I shook my head at him. "That's over," I said definitively. I wrapped my hand around his arm and nudged him toward the sidewalk. "Let's go home, Joe." He looked at me for a long moment, then nodded.

We didn't speak on the walk back to the row house on Slater Street. We walked in companionable silence, our footsteps muffled by the new-falling snow, and we watched the dance of Christmas and street lights through the gently twirling flakes. Joe shook his head and grinned at my poor, pitiful dead car still blocking his driveway, and I muffled my own laughter against his jacket. He looped his arm around me and swept me into the house, thankfully having no problem with the front door lock this time.

We draped our coats over the hall tree, and I ran my hands over Joe's sweater-covered back. I couldn't keep my hands off him another second. He turned to face me, and the fire in his eyes was nearly my undoing, without him ever laying a single finger on my more than ready body. I growled low in my throat, a primitive, feral sound and launched myself at him.

His mouth felt so ripe, so sweet under my onslaught. I couldn't get enough of him, the heady taste of him filling my head, his tongue stroking along the delicate membranes of my mouth. I whimpered and reached for the snap of his jeans.

He caught my hands. "Wait," he said.

"Why?" Years worth of pent-up frustration came out in a single word.

Joe was breathing heavily through his nose, and obviously trying to get himself back under control. The hell with that—I wanted him out of control! I tried to work my hands free and start touching him again, but he held me fast.

"What's wrong, Joe?" I asked, anxious to get past whatever it was and get on with mind-blowing sex.

"It's Christmas Eve," he bit out.

I gave him a "duh" look.

"It's Christmas Eve, and all the stores are closed, and I haven't got a single condom in the whole goddamn house," he snarled.

I blinked at him. "Is that all?"

He looked at me like I'd lost my mind. "All? I think it's a pretty fucking big deal!" Poor baby, he was overwrought. I smiled wickedly. That's okay. Stephanie could make it allllll better.

"You know what I think?" I asked in my most seductive whisper. I slowly pulled my sweater over my head. "I think you worry too much." I worked the button loose on the top of my wool trousers, and lowered them down my legs. "I think you need to have a little faith." I carefully stepped out of my trousers and toed off my shoes.

"Faith?" he ground out.

"Mm hmm. In miracles. You said you believed, right?" He nodded slowly, mesmerized, as I unhooked my bra and let it fall to the floor. "I think we need to make a miracle right now." I leaned forward and kissed him, lots of tongue, and pressed my near-naked body tight against him. "Make a baby in me, Joe. Do it now."

He growled and pulled me down on the rug in front of the fireplace. "And if there's a black SUV parked across the street?"

I pulled his sweater up and over his head, leaving his chest gleaming in the lamplight. "I think voyeurs need to make sure they want to see the show before they start to peep in windows. That's what I think." I finished unsnapping his jeans and worked the denim down past his thighs. He muttered in frustration and quickly stood and divested himself of the rest of his clothes. He stood over me, and I drank in the sight of him, all light and shadow, his body as familiar to me as my own. He reached down a hand, and pulled me to my feet. He fisted his hands deep into my hair, and kissed me with an unleashed savagery. I met him thrust for thrust, licking, biting, sucking—unable to get enough of him. I was starved for the feel of his body under my hands, under my mouth. He snapped the strings of my thong and I felt his throbbing erection burn into my stomach. I half-growled and half-laughed, giddy on the emotion of being at last in Joe's arms, with both of us just a little out of control.

There would be time for niceties later, time for tenderness and slow, leisurely lovemaking, but that time wasn't now. I ached to feel Joe moving inside me, needed him to make me feel complete. I ran my right foot up the outside of his leg, pausing just above his knee to push off slightly and raise myself higher on him. Joe answered by backing me against the wall and wrapping both my legs around his waist. I screamed in satisfaction when I finally felt his massive length slide home in one smooth thrust. I held on for dear life as Joe pounded into me, the tight coil of desire winding tighter and tighter with each slam of his body into my own. He had one arm supporting my hips, but slid the other hand between us, his thumb working its way to the juncture where our bodies met and writhed together. No lazy circles or light strumming, just a hard pounding need, and his wicked fast fingers sent me into a screaming vortex as he thrust one final time, the head of him pressing tight against the opening of my womb.

I felt him start to move away, but I held on insistently with my arms wrapped tight around his neck and my legs still twined around his waist. I made a small negative sound, and he shushed me. He lowered us both to the rug in front of the fireplace, and pulled the afghan off the couch over our still-joined bodies with one arm. We slept, wrapped deep in each other's arms. And sometime in the night, the SUV drove away.

I smiled the next morning before I even opened my eyes. I could feel the warm length of Joe pressed against my back, our bodies aligned perfectly from shoulders to shins. His warm breath fanned the hair on my neck, and I could tell by his even breathing he was still asleep. We had made love in the living room last night until the hard floor and cold draft of the old windows had gotten to us. Sometime after the third orgasm, Joe had finally sworn under his breath and lifted me into his arms and stomped up the stairs to deposit me unceremoniously in the middle of the bed. I had laughed, then, feeling free and happy, and he had pounced. I smiled more broadly at the memory, and snuggled my hips in closer to Joe. He made a sound like a low purr deep in his throat, and pulled me closer. I luxuriated in the moment, then realized I was never going to get back to sleep with my bladder knocking insistently on my consciousness. Hating to leave the warmth of Joe's bed, I slid quietly out of his arms and headed to the bathroom.

Once I'd used the facilities, splashed water on my face and brushed my teeth, I was awake whether I wanted to be or not. I pulled rummaged around the closet without waking Joe, and finally pulled on one of his sweatshirt and a pair of running pants. I could at least cinch up the drawstring on the pants, and I didn't want to put my own crumpled clothes back on, assuming I could even find them. Somehow, being carried naked up the stairs in the dark of night felt very different from waltzing down the stairs naked in the cold light of day. I laughed at my own oddball scruples, and padded on into the kitchen to start some coffee.

It's funny, I couldn't help but remember the first time I'd awakened in Joe's bed, several years before. The sense of rightness and well-being was identical. I'd gotten up that morning, well loved and vulnerable, and wanted to make him breakfast, squeeze him fresh orange juice, do his laundry. I shook my head at my own naivete. If Joe had crooked his little finger at me that morning, I'd have followed him to the ends of the earth. Instead, we'd had some lame conversation about cookie jars and circled each other like sparring opponents.

"Morning, Cupcake," Joe's sleep-rasped voice sounded behind me, and he looped a possessive arm around my shoulder, pulling me back against him for a quick nuzzle of my neck. I smiled. "I like seeing you in my kitchen," he mused.

Funny my thoughts were following a similar, if parallel track. "Not always," I told him, and smiled to take any sting from my words.

"Yeah," he said, and rubbed the stubble on his face, still looking tired. "I was an asshole."

"Joe!"


	3. Chapter 3

Ranger watched the entwined couple sink slowly to the floor with burning eyes. He sighed with a bone-deep weariness and pushed his thumb and forefinger deep into the corners of his eyes. God, he was tired. Tired from more than the long day that had started long before daybreak, and it was now well after midnight. His brain felt too big for his head, and his very soul ached. He shook his head and leaned his head back against the headrest of the black SUV and sighed in frustration.

He'd fucked up. Again. He slammed his palm against the steering wheel in a rare display of temper and started the motor. He'd really hoped this time would be different. Stephanie was smart and funny, sweet without being cloying about it. He'd had high hopes. Honesty had forced him to tell her he wasn't relationship material, but he'd secretly hoped that she'd prove him wrong. This time, this woman, might be the one time he could let himself open up. He'd never believed in luck, of course, and he didn't depend on it. Instead, he planned. He figured the odds, the contingencies, all the possibilities. He left nothing to chance, and Stephanie had seemed like she really might work. She was great in bed, and made him laugh. There was an innate sweetness in her that drew him in.

In the end, though, his own demons had been his undoing. He'd seen how his growing aloofness was hurting her, but been unable to stop the conditioning of a lifetime. The more she pushed, the higher he built his walls, and God knew he was an expert at erecting walls. He'd kicked his own ass around the block a dozen times, fully aware that he was shutting her out, but unable to stop the instinctive reaction.

He swore under his breath as the SUV slewed on the deserted road. The snow had been coming down quietly but persistently for several hours, and the dropping temperatures were rapidly turning the roads into skating rinks. He had the fleeting thought that he needed to pay more attention to his driving when an ominous thump sounded against the passenger side fender. Swearing in earnest this time, he fought the wheel and brought the unwieldy SUV to a skidding stop. Luckily, he hadn't been going too fast, and hopefully whatever he'd hit wasn't hurt too badly. He could make out a dark shape slumped over near the sidewalk, and skidded across the road to examine his victim. As he approached closer and the whirling snow cleared momentarily to give him a better view, he realized his victim was human instead of animal, and he felt an icy blast that had nothing to do with the weather work its way down his spine.

Oh, God no. Not again.

A low groan sounded, and the woman sat up, rubbing her head and staring around her.

Ranger had an impression of dark eyes and dark hair before she turned away from him and shut her eyes. "Don't move, okay?" He ran deft fingers over the burgeoning bruise along her cheekbone then along her arms, still encased in her heavy coat.

"What?" she said.

"I said, 'Don't move.'" he said, exasperation lacing his tone. "We don't know how badly you're hurt."

"Not bad enough that I'm going to sit here in the middle of the street and wait for someone else to hit me." With that, she pushed his hands away and started to stand. Gasping at the wave of dizziness that rolled over her, she sat back down hard.

"Stay here while I call for an ambulance," Ranger automatically took charge. He hated like hell that he'd knocked her on her ass, but implementing decisions and handling things put him back in control.

"No!" she insisted.

"Look, you've got a nasty bump on your head, and we don't know what else is wrong with you," he was trying to be patient, but the long hours were getting to him. He refused to even consider for a moment that emotional turmoil would have any impact on him at all. He kept his emotions under tight control, and falling victim to some kind of emotional upset was just not in his frame of reference.

"Terminal stupidity is all that's wrong with me," she said bitterly. She looked up at him, and he was struck by the raw emotion in her luminous brown eyes. "I ran into you, not the other way around, and I'd really rather not have to explain that to anyone else, okay? I feel dumb enough already. Sorry I ran into your car."

He reached out a hand to help her up, but she batted him away. "I'm fine," she insisted.

"You're not fine," he argued, and hauled her to her feet.

She pushed him away and staggered to the curb. She sat down in the snow and buried her face in her hands. "Look, it's just been a really bad night," she explained.

He snorted. She didn't know the half of it. "Tell me about it," he commiserated.

She looked up at him, then, and laughed quietly, though the tears still stood in her eyes. "Merry Christmas," she said with deliberate irony.

He sat down next to her and gave her a small smile of his own. "Yeah."

She shook her head and looked heavenward as if searching for answers. They sat for long moments, just watching the snowflakes swirl in the milky moonlight. Finally, the melting snow worked its was insidiously through his cargo pants. Perfect. A cold wet ass on top of everything else.

"Look, why don't you let me drive you home at least," he offered.

Her eyes grew wide, and he could see the alarm belatedly work its way into her consciousness. She finally realized her vulnerability, sitting here on a deserted street in the middle of the night with a total stranger. She started to slide away from him, and he caught her arm, then quickly released it when he felt her stiffen in response. Holding his hands up in front of him in the universal signal for surrender, he explained, "I'm not going to hurt you, I promise." He stopped and looked at the bruise along her cheek, purpling even as they sat there. "Well, at least not any worse than I already did. After all, I hit you with my car, how much worse could it get?"

She shook her head in resignation. "I left my car parked at the church," she started. Ranger looked at the rapidly accumulating snow.

"You got four wheel drive?" She shook her head.

"They're not going to do anything to these streets tonight. Let me drive you." He offered his hand again, deciding if she rejected him again he was going to call it a night and leave her sorry ass sitting on the street despite his better intentions. Instead, her hand curled into his, and she let him pull her to her feet.

"Thank you," she murmured. She stole a sideways look at him. "So do you do this for everyone you hit with your car?"

"All part of the service," he quipped, and closed her securely in the passenger seat of the SUV. He strode around the front of the SUV, catching himself as he started to slide. He climbed up into the driver's seat and turned to his passenger. "Where to?"

"I'm south of town a few miles. Look, it's quite a ways out, and the weather's turning really bad. If you can drop me at my car—" she worriedly started.

"I can drop you at your car, and then worry all night about you ending up in a ditch." He shook his head. "It's the least I can do." He could see she was ready to argue again and cut her off. "Listen, we're both out in the middle of the night on Christmas Eve. It's not like either one of us has anything else to do. Just give me directions. We'll take care of your car tomorrow."

She opened her mouth, then shut it again with a snap. "South on the freeway once you get out of town, then I'll show you."

She paused for a minute, watching the streetlights slowly pass as he maneuvered through the thickening storm. "I'm Kathleen, by the way. Kathleen Moriarty."

"Call me Ranger," he replied.

"Ranger?" she crinkled her nose. "I don't think so." He shot her a look in the dark, unused to being argued with.

"Everybody calls me Ranger."

She shook her head. "I bet your mother doesn't call you 'Ranger'," she said the nickname like it was slightly unpleasant.

"I've been 'Ranger' for years," he replied.

"Let me see your drivers' license," she demanded. "I bet it doesn't say 'Ranger' on it." This time she gave a definite disparaging slur to his moniker, and he started to get irritated.

"What difference does it make to you?" he demanded.

"Nicknames are just stupid once you're old enough for middle school. Your mother gave you a name, I expect. Why the big, deep, dark secret? She name you Clarabelle or something?"

"No, she named me Ricardo, which is almost as bad." He shot her an assessing look. "My mother calls me 'Carlos.' It's my middle name."

"Good choice," she agreed. "Ricardo sucks."

He smiled at that one. "I always thought so. You've got some mighty strong opinions, there." He negotiated a particularly slippery turn and then returned his attention to Kathleen.

"And that's a problem?" she challenged.

"Not a problem, just an observation," he answered.

"Yeah, well I had an epiphany tonight. I decided I was done mincing around telling people what they wanted to hear and being Miss Sweetness and Light." Her tone wasn't quite belligerent, but Ranger smiled to himself at her vehemence. Touchy, obviously. Best to change the subject.

"So how did you wind up 'Kathleen Moriarty'?" he asked.

She took a deep breath and relaxed visibly in the comfortable leather seat. "Dad's Italian, Mom's side is Irish." She shrugged as if that explained everything. "Put it together and you get me. What's your last name, Carlos?"

"Manoso."

"Not Puerto Rican," she mused, obviously trying to place him.

"Nope," he answered. "Cuban."

"Ahhh," she said, as if that explained everything. He shot her a quizzical look.

"So where you from, Irish? Your accent's definitely not Jersey."

"That bad, huh?" she laughed. "Boston, actually. Or just outside. And don't call me Irish."

"Really? I've got a business in Boston," he answered.

"Yeah?" she obviously warmed to him. "My family's still there. I should have gone home for Christmas," she mused, obviously still bothered by her self-proclaimed bad night.

"Your parents in Boston?" he said, trying to distract her.

"Yeah. Mom and Dad and all my brothers."

"How many?"

"Five," she answered.

"Holy shit," replied Ranger.

"Catholic," she shrugged, as if that explained it all. "How about you?"

"Four sisters, one brother," he paused. "Also Catholic. Obviously." She laughed, and the sound flowed over him like a benison. He realized with a start he was enjoying talking with her, secure in the cocoon of snow and ice as they traveled through the night.

"So what brought you to Trenton, Irish?"

"With five older brothers? Are you kidding?" She laughed again. "I had to get the hell out of Boston or I'd have never gotten laid. And I told you not to call me Irish."

He choked.

"Gotcha."

He leveled a steady gaze at her. "I'll get you back, Irish."

"Don't call me Irish."

"You call me what you want, I'll call you what I want," he was inordinately pleased to know he was getting under her skin.

She shot him a fishy look but couldn't argue. Not exactly even yet for the getting laid reaction, but he felt slightly more like he was regaining his footing.

"So what do you do, Carlos?" She emphasized the name, obviously unwilling to give it up.

"I run a security company. Some fugitive apprehension work," he didn't elaborate too much.

"Like Dog the Bounty Hunter?" she asked, all innocence.

"No," he replied tightly. "Not like Dog the Bounty Hunter." He caught her smirking. Shit. He waltzed into that one.

"Gotcha again."

He looked pained. "You are so gonna get it, Irish."

He thought he heard her say, "Promise?" but that couldn't be right.

"Come again?" he asked, politely.

She laughed out loud. "Oh, no." She chortled, actually chortled at his discomfiture. "I'm not touching that one, Carlos."

He could feel the heat creep up his face, and couldn't remember the last time he blushed, grateful for the concealing darkness of the night. "So what is it you do, exactly?" he asked in desperation.

"I teach middle school, actually." His eyebrows quirked. He hadn't figured her for a teacher.

"Middle school?" He couldn't quite reconcile the brash woman in the seat next to him as a sedate teacher.

"Yup. I have it on good authority, by the way, that Dog's son Leland is hot. You might want to consider that the next time you're dissing Dog."

"That tattooed kid with the ponytail?"

She reached over and tugged his hair, pulled back in a low queue at the nape of his neck. "You're one to talk."

"Yeah, but middle school?"

She shrugged. "Let me tell you, he cuts quite a swathe through the twelve year old crowd."

"God help me," he said, thinking of Julie.

"You got kids?" she asked.

"A daughter. Almost twelve." She laughed again, setting his nerves on edge. "She ever brings home a Leland, I'll lock her in a tower," he said, only half jesting.

"Yeah, and when she gets older, she'll move to another city so she can get laid," she said, completely deadpan.

"You are not helping."

"Make the next left," she instructed.

"Which left?"

"There!"

"Where?"

"Right up there! You're going to miss it!"

"That's not a road, that's a deer track!"

"I tried to tell you I lived out in the boonies, but you didn't want to hear it. Oh, no. Mr. Macho. 'Let me take you home,'" Her intonation was low and raspy and a fair imitation of his own voice and he knew it.

"Shut up," he snapped, and wrestled the SUV over the slick track. "If you live out in the back of beyond like this, how come you don't have a four wheel drive?"

"You shut up. You sound just like my brother," she snapped right back.

"What? It's my fault your brother's right and you don't want to hear it?"

"For your information, I don't have a four-wheel drive because I can't afford one. I'm a teacher, remember? I'm not made of money. It takes everything I bring in to keep my house going, so I'm trying to get a few more years out of my car."

They finally pulled up in front of a small, low-slung bungalow. A study in white, the old house had definitely seen better days, but it was far from ramshackle. A steady light burned on the wide, covered front porch, and another in what was obviously the kitchen window.

"It's nice," Ranger admitted, "but how are you going to get out of here? We're practically snowed in now?"

She shrugged. "Another teacher lives a couple of miles further on. When the snow gets too bad, I give her a call and she picks me up out by the road."

"That's got to be nearly half a mile."

"I have legs," she informed him.

He shook his head.

"What?" she demanded. "Let me guess. You buff up in one of those state of the art gyms, right?"

Thinking back to the expensively appointed gym at the Haywood Street compound he nodded. "And?"

"And nothing. Except don't you get tired of looking at the same walls and repeating the same motions all the time? I couldn't do it," she declared. "I have to be outside. Give me a hike through the snow any time."

"Some of us don't have the luxury of our own private wilderness," he said, looking around at the deserted wood around the house. There hadn't been another single light anywhere close, and between the thickly falling snow and the darkness of the night, he couldn't see any other signs of human habitation.

"It's not about luxury, it's about choices," she maintained. "I could afford a four wheel drive if I wanted to live in a cramped apartment in the city. The tradeoff is I'd rather be out here by myself. It's quiet, peaceful. I like my solitude. So sometimes I have to hitch a ride because my car won't navigate my driveway." She shrugged. "It's worth it to me."

She pulled the door handle and stood quickly, then turned back to face him in the open doorframe. "Will you do me a favor?"

"Seeing as how I knocked you on your ass and gave you a black eye, I don't see why not," he answered.

She laughed a little, and her hand went inadvertently to her swollen cheekbone. "I think it was the pavement that gave me the shiner, but I'll take what I can get. Would you hang out a minute while I make sure everything's okay? I'm not usually out this late, and living by myself…" she trailed off, obviously not liking to admit vulnerability, but smart enough to not take unnecessary chances.

He swung out his own door without waiting for her to finish. "I'll do you one better. Let me check it out with you."

"Really, that's not necessary…"

He waved her off. "Same thing as the ditch. I won't sleep tonight if I'm thinking about you laying in a pool of blood." He probably wouldn't sleep anyway, but she didn't need to know that.

"Thanks," it was a small admission, but he could tell it cost her pride.

The motion sensor lights flashed on as they picked their way up the slippery walk, illuminating the outside of the modest house in a clear white light that caught the snowflakes and suspended them like a life-size snowglobe. Ranger silently nodded approval as he took in her top of the line locks as she led the way into the house. He quickly followed her from room to room as she efficiently checked the windows and doors, ensuring no unwelcome intruders had invaded her privacy while she had been away.

"Everything looks fine, thank you," she said briskly once they had completed their circuit of the house and returned to the front door.

"No problem," he answered automatically, finding himself reluctant to leave the quiet confines of Kathleen's house.

For the first time since she'd realized she was alone with a strange man in the middle of the night, he saw uncertainty pass over Kathleen's face. "Listen… do you want some coffee or something? I mean, I know it's late, and caffeine usually keeps people up, but I'm not going to sleep tonight anyway, and…" She cut herself off abruptly. "And I'm babbling. I don't really want to be alone right now. Would you like to stay and have some coffee or something to eat?"

Ranger nodded slowly. "Sure. I haven't had anything to eat since some tofu and vegetable stir fry this afternoon."

She made a face at him. "Why would you torture your soybeans like that?" She latched onto his arm and pulled him into the kitchen. "If you want to eat soybeans, have some edamame or something. Why would you want them processed into something unrecognizable like tofu?"

"I like tofu," he defended himself.

She turned from the counter where she'd been busily measuring coffee ground and simultaneously digging through the cupboard. "Carlos." She gave him a serious look. "Nobody _**likes**_ tofu."

"So what's your stance on sprouts?" he teased.

She made another moue of disgust. "I keep telling myself I should like 'em, but they still taste like grass to me," she sighed.

She turned and set a small basket of muffins in the middle of the table, and some condiments. He picked one up and examined it with a jaundiced eye.

"Whole wheat?" he inquired.

"Spelt."

"No shit?"

"No shit, just spelt."

"So what about over-processing your poor spelt?"

"Organic co-op. Grinder's in the corner," she inclined her head toward a heavy-duty grain mill. "I like having a personal relationship with what goes in my body, that's all," she said defensively.

Ranger held up his hands, palms out. "No argument from me." He took a bite of the muffin he'd been examining. Flavors burst across his tongue. "Wow."

She nodded at him, as if he'd just made her point. "Blood oranges."

He quirked an eyebrow at her.

"Blood oranges and fresh cranberries. It's a really distinctive flavor."

"Very good," he admitted, thinking he might have to let Ella know about these. "Where do you get them?"

"Hello? Grain mill? Personal relationship with what goes in my body? I made 'em, of course."

"I meant the blood oranges." He smiled to himself, pleased to have her off balance. He still owed her a few. He lazily broke off another chunk of muffin and chewed, never letting his eyes leave hers.

She looked away from him and he could see a hint of blush coming up her cheeks. "Sorry. I'm used to defending my food choices." He nodded slightly. Been there. "I go to a little place in Newark, actually. There's a guy who carries some specialty imports that haven't been treated and waxed to within an inch of their lives. Blood oranges are in season, and I can't resist them." The coffeemaker gurgled and she pushed back her chair.

"Coffee?" she offered, and brought the pot over to the table.

"Please," he responded. He wasn't going to get any sleep tonight anyway. Better to have some coffee and talk then twist and turn alone in his empty bed back on Haywood. He spared a glance out the kitchen window. Assuming he could even get back to town, at this rate. The snow was still falling heavy and thick, and a fresh blanket of white coated the SUV. The drive leading in was now indistinguishable from the surrounding area. Ranger closed his eyes in frustration. "Just what I needed," he said sarcastically.

Kathleen shot him a questioning look. "If you don't want coffee…"

Ranger rubbed his hands wearily over his face. "No, the coffee's fine," he elaborated. "I think we're snowed in, though."

She looked out the window and shrugged philosophically. "Looks like." She glanced over in his direction, for the first time really seeing his weariness. "I'm really sorry, I didn't mean—"

He waved off her apologies. "Don't worry about it." He spared a glance at his watch and grimaced. "I'm closing in on twenty-four hours, here, and I'm really starting to fade." He looked up at her and held her eyes. "And like you said earlier, it's been a bad night. Could I borrow your couch for a few hours? I can call someone to help me get the SUV out once it's daylight."

She laughed, low and bitter, and he looked at her quizzically. "What's funny?"

She smiled sadly. "Fate's sense of humor I guess." She looked around the kitchen, searching for words, then gave up and looked at him directly. "I had big plans for tonight. Snowstorm. Candles." She blushed, just a bit. "Sexy lingerie." She sighed quietly. "Kind of a Christmas present, you know?" He nodded, wondering exactly where she was going with this. "Then the guy I'd been seeing for the past month introduced me to his fiancée tonight. Phhhht" Her fingers mesmerized him as she fluttered them through the air in front of her face. "So much for that. Instead, I get a guy camped out on my couch." Her hands came to rest on the table in front of her, and he reached over and placed one of his hands over hers.

"I'm sorry." It seemed inadequate, but it was all he could think of.

"Yeah, me too."

"The woman I was living with went back to her ex today," he said, and didn't know who was more surprised. He must be more tired than he thought, giving out confidences to a virtual stranger.

She squeezed his hands in sympathy. "Lucky us, huh?"

"Yeah." Suddenly he became aware of their entwined hands on the table. He knew he should let go. He should get up and put some space between them. Kathleen Moriarty seemed like a decent woman, and she didn't need him complicating her life. And frankly, he didn't want her complicating his either. "I should go," he said, stating the obvious.

She nodded here head, then stopped abruptly. "You probably should." Her eyes looked up at him, and he found himself lost in her gaze. "But I've spent my whole life doing what I 'should' do. I'm sick to death of doing what I 'should' do. What about what I _**want**_ to do?"

His eyes darkened abruptly. "What do you want?"

She just looked at him. He swore silently to himself. He was not going to make the same mistake again. He'd spent all day long replaying the night he'd gone to Stephanie's apartment. She'd offered him her couch, but he'd pushed her. He'd gone to her bed after she'd told him it wasn't a sexual invitation. He'd pushed, and ever since then he'd wondered if she'd have chosen him of her own accord. Even the first time, he'd had to be the aggressor. He'd always pushed their relationship to the next level, and it left him feeling hollow. Somehow, he'd never been able to escape the nagging doubt that left him wondering in the deepest, most hidden levels of his psyche if she'd wanted him as much as he'd wanted her. The thought squirmed to the surface, ugly and invasive, and he wished it away. He had no interest in being some other woman's consolation prize. He could see only one option. He'd scare her off. Hell, he'd be doing her a favor in the long run.

"If you want me to take you to bed," he drilled his eyes into her, "Then you'll have to tell me that."

She looked at him for a long moment, bit her lip. He could see it coming. It was what he'd wanted. Miss School Teacher needed to go back to her safe, predictable life, and he needed to catch just a few hours of sleep. If he could just get some sleep, maybe he could get back in control of his life.

"I want to take you to bed," she said softly.

Okay, exhaustion was playing merry hell with his hearing. She did _**not**_ just say that. He looked at her quizzically. "Come again?"

"God, I hope so," she murmured, and before he could figure out her intention, she sealed her mouth against his, and he felt the warm weight of her straddle his hips, tongue pushing feverishly into the recesses of his mouth. Blood flooded his groin in a massive rush, and he slanted his mouth against Kathleen's. His hands grasped her hips, pulling her closer to his growing erection.

"You sure about this?" he couldn't help but ask.

"God yes," she breathed, and pulled her sweater over her head in one smooth motion, sending her long hair flying in all directions. "Just this one night." She licked her way up the outside of his neck. "Just this one time, I want to do what I _**want **_to do." She sat back, her breasts half-exposed in a barely-there demi-bra, and brushed her hair away from her face. "Not what I should do, not what everyone expects me to do."

He ran a light finger along the edges of her bra, barely rasping over the top edge of her nipples. She groaned deep in her throat. "Tell me what you want," he demanded.

"I want you. I want to be dangerous. I want to bring home a totally hot stranger and fuck him to within an inch of his life." She caught her breath as his fingers dipped below the waistband of her skirt. "I want to scream," she confided.

One night. One night with no holds barred, no expectations about tomorrow. One night where he could be everything this woman wanted. The temptation went to his head like fine wine, and he traced his tongue along the edge of her exposed breasts. His hands stroked her skirt high up her thighs, finally settling into the juncture between her legs, the damp heat against his fingers nearly sending him over the edge.

She suddenly sat up. "I won't be a pity fuck," she proclaimed.

He laughed low and deep, and grabbed her hand, bringing it hard against his straining erection. "That's not pity," he said, and took her mouth again with his own. He felt rather than heard the small bubble of laughter that worked at the back of her throat. He chased it with his tongue, and the laughter turned into a long, low moan.

He abruptly stood up, easily holding her to him, and her legs automatically wrapped around his waist. "Show me the way to your candles," he said, smiling down at her.

She grinned up at him mischievously and whispered directions to her bedroom. Once there, he laid her back against the down comforter, and picked up the long-nosed lighter placed conveniently on the nightstand. He slowly circled the room, lighting the candles he found there. Small votives, large pillars, candles shaped like flowers and candles in containers, he lit them all, and the air was awash in the scent of beeswax and vanilla. He turned back to the bed, and found she'd been busy herself. The comforter was turned down to expose snowy sheets, and she'd managed to lose everything but the demi-bra and matching g-string. She held up a bottle of champagne and two flutes, and wiggled the glasses in invitation.

"Hell, yes," he responded, then crossed the room in three quick strides, then quickly took the glasses from her hand. "But we won't need the glasses."

"No?" she questioned.

"No." he answered, and lowered his head to drink the champagne from the hollow of her breasts, her navel, the sweet join of her hips.

She screamed.

Thin fingers of light weren't quite peeking through her bedroom curtains the next morning when Kathleen awoke. Dawn was still more of a theory at this early morning hour than an imminent actuality. She'd only been asleep a few hours, but always woke before the dawn light. The morning was deceptively quiet with the muffling blanket of snow thick on the ground, and a quick peek out the window showed that the onslaught had yet to slow. The world was starting to tint pink and silver in the dawn's edge, the suspended crystals robbing the morning air of its usual colorful display. She sighed contentedly, then carefully slid out of the bed without disturbing Carlos. What a nice surprise he had turned out to be. Her own clothes were somewhere in the kitchen, so she picked up Carlos' black t-shirt from the end of the bed and slid it over her head. She inhaled deeply and smiled a secretive smile before padding out to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee and some breakfast.

She cut thick slices of bread and dipped them quickly in egg and vanilla before setting them on the griddle. While the toast sizzled and popped, she sliced fruit and mixed in fresh yogurt with a hint of the same vanilla she'd stirred into the eggs. She made quick work of arranging everything on two plates, and poured two heavy mugs of strong coffee before stacking everything on a tray. She walked softly back toward her bedroom and set the tray down on the table by the window. She found her favorite perch on the small armchair near the east-facing window and watched the world come alive with the rising sun. This was her favorite part of the day, watching the world change from dark to light, details coming into focus even as she watched.

She stole a glance at the man still sleeping in her bed. The white sheets were stark against his mocha skin tones, riding low on his hips and leaving his impressive chest exposed to the cool morning air. His nipples were tight from the cold and his hair was splayed over the pillows like black ink. She carefully set her coffee down and approached the bed. She carefully pulled the down comforter to his shoulders, and he sighed in his sleep. She quirked a small smile. It really was a shame to cover up those abs, but he had clearly been exhausted last night and if she could ensure him further slumber, he could only benefit. The weather was relentless, and there was no way he could call anyone out yet at this hour anyway. Best he sleep.

She returned to her coffee and her quiet contemplative space at her window. She pulled a well-used journal and her favorite pen from their usual place and began to write. She'd never been able to maintain the concentration necessary for meditation or yoga; her mind and body had always craved movement and action. She'd discovered, though, that taking time to set down her thoughts every morning kept her centered and focused. Though her thoughts still whirled after the previous night's events, she felt a better sense of control once her feelings and thought processes had been committed to paper. More a stream of consciousness than a formal diary, her writing probably would make no sense to anyone but herself, but it served its purpose. Once again, she felt the tension flow from her body down through her fingers and into the pen she gripped, settling on the blank page in front of her where it could be contained, vanquished. She closed the journal with a sense of satisfaction, and turned her attention once again to the enigma she had taken to her bed the night before.

She'd never engaged in a one-night stand before, instead preferring to set the pace and call the shots on previous relationships, always moving with deliberation from one stage to the next. She never rushed, never let herself feel pressured into a false intimacy. She'd met Joe Morelli two months previously, the cousin of her friend, Shirley's husband Mooch. Shirley and Mooch's oldest daughter had been in her homeroom class last year, and she and Shirley had stayed in contact, enjoying occasional coffee dates and book clubs together. When Shirley had suggested an introduction to Mooch's cousin, Kathleen had figured it was worth a shot. She enjoyed Mooch and Shirley, their kids were great, so it made sense that she might like Mooch's cousin. And she had.

When Kathleen had first seen Joe Morelli, her first thought was that he was one of the most beautiful men she'd ever seen. He was funny and smart, attentive even. He made her laugh, and had a wicked sense of humor. And he had the saddest eyes she had ever seen. It was his eyes that had done it, she thought. Beautiful, just the color of bittersweet chocolate, and ringed with dark thick lashes and straight heavy brows, with the slightest hairline scar running through the right one. She'd have given anything she had to erase the sadness from that man's eyes, because she could just imagine how devastating he would be with his eyes alight and happy.

She'd really thought she was making progress in the last month since they'd started dating, too. They'd kept things low-key with an occasional dinner out, and long walks with that big, stupid, goofy dog he adored. Kathleen smiled in memory. Who named a dog "Bob" anyway? But it did fit him, she decided. They'd gone for a long walk the afternoon of Christmas Eve, and Kathleen had really sensed a change in the intimacy level between them. He'd dropped her at her car, agreed to meet later at Midnight Mass, and then she'd gone to finish some last minute shopping, and ducked into Victoria's Secret at the last minute. She'd found a beautiful set of silk lingerie and thought, "Why not?" Joe had never pressured her, but they were both adults, and their relationship was definitely warming up, or so she'd thought.

She'd decided she couldn't sit with his family at mass while planning to take Joe to her bed later that night, so she'd found a place a few rows behind his mother and grandmother and waited. She'd all but given up and decided he'd been called in to work when she saw him rush up the aisle towing a long-legged brunette in his wake. Her breath had caught at the change in him. He was familiar, yet totally unlike the Joe Morelli she'd seen over the previous two months. His eyes snapped with vitality, and his smile seemed easier, less forced. He'd turned to say something to the woman with him, and Kathleen's breath had caught when she saw his face. There was a vitality there that she'd never seen before, a sense of right that couldn't be denied.

Like an automaton, she'd forced herself to greet him after the service, and hurdled the painful introduction to the woman who obviously held his heart. She'd walked in the snow for a long time, as the town shut down around her, needing the movement and the snow-laden air fresh in her lungs, thinking and not paying attention to anything around her. Until she'd walked into the side of a moving SUV and cracked her face on the sidewalk. Unbidden, her fingers felt her swollen and discolored cheekbone. The swelling was better this morning, but a rainbow of color bloomed below her eye. She probably looked like hell, but Carlos hadn't seemed to mind last night.

The sculpted planes of his shoulders showed against the pristine white of the sheets and duvet. She smiled to herself. He was just the color of her favorite Starbuck's latte, a delicious blend of coffee, cream, and caramel. The color was no less delicious spread over an obviously well-toned and well-honed body, and she feasted her eyes. As if sensing her gaze, his eyes snapped open and immediately focused on her. No drowsiness, no disorientation, the man just moved effortlessly from sleeping to waking.

"You're thinking pretty loud over there, Irish," he said, and settled his arms behind his head, while scooting up to lean against the headboard. The duvet slipped down, revealing more of that marvelous latte colored chest.

"Starbucks," she said idly, and moved toward the bed as if pulled there by an irresistible force. "I was thinking about Starbucks…." She leaned down and pressed a feather light kiss across his lips. "Caramel Macchiato," she said. "You're just the color of Caramel Macchiato." She leaned down for a taste, unable to resist. "You could become a really bad habit," she murmured.

"How do you figure that?" He was teasing, even playful. God, he couldn't remember the last time he had slept so well. Waking up to find Kathleen watching him with focused intensity hadn't hurt any either. She was a beautiful woman, and it was gratifying the way she didn't play games or act coy around him. He obviously turned her on, and she didn't balk at showing that.

She smiled slowly against his lips. "I only allow myself two vices, or I did up until now."

"Mmmmm," he smiled back at her, "and what would those be."

This time her laugh was blatant, and he felt her shake, breasts pressed firmly against his chest. "Caramel Macchiatos and Screaming Orgasms," she laughed.

He tipped his head back, and laughed with her, then adroitly flipped her to her back and moved over her in one smooth motion. "I can help you with that," he promised, still laughing.

Her eyes danced with amusement in the morning light. "I'll take a double," she said, and bent her knees to cradle him deep inside her.

My God, he thought. She was a vise in velvet. With honey….


	4. Chapter 4

Kathleen woke lethargically, her mind still moving languorously from a sensuous overload and a sweet but satisfied ache that filled her body. She reveled in the unfamiliar feel of the warm male body still half-sprawled on top of her, and rubbed her cheek against the sleek muscle of his shoulder. He shifted slightly in his sleep, and she quietly slid out from under his weight, a newfound urgency lending speed to her movements as she hobbled to the bathroom as quickly as she could, previously unused muscles protesting in the cold light of morning. Their breakfast feast of lukewarm coffee and cold French toast had been several hours ago, before they'd tumbled back into her bed for yet a third time, and the coffee was making its presence known with an uncomfortable pressure on her bladder.

Taking advantage of her solitude, she showered quickly and ran a brush through her deep auburn hair, the waves settling like a shawl low on her shoulders. Makeup seemed like overkill, and she was completely at a loss for appropriate morning-after-a-one-night-stand clothes. Sauntering back into the bedroom wearing nothing but what God gave her was beyond her intestinal fortitude now that morning and reality were both well-advanced, leaving her more than a little self-conscious in the cold light of day. A bathrobe seemed awfully presumptuous, as if she were expecting yet another round of mind-blowing sex. On the other hand, layering on regular clothes seemed too much like putting up a barrier between last night and today. God, how did women _do_ this? Sighing in frustration, she finally reached for the thick terry cloth robe hanging on the back of the door. She'd decide about morning after clothes or lack thereof later. In the meantime, ice still encased the world outside the drafty bathroom window, and she was cold.

Kathleen pulled the concealing robe around her and knotted the waist, then picked up her toothbrush and squeezed out far too much toothpaste. Nerves again, she thought. A quiet but insistent knock sounded from the other side of the door, startling her and making her inhale half the toothpaste. Swearing silently, she rinsed her mouth and wriggled her nose in a vain attempt to rid herself of the mint up her nose. Giving it up for a lost cause as the knock sounded again, more insistently this time, she slowly unlatched the door and peered around the edge.

Her heart beat erratically and she felt her face flush. It really should be illegal for a man to look that good in the morning. Far from the polished presentation last night, this morning he looked nothing short of lethal. His hair was still in a wild disarray despite his efforts to finger comb it into submission, falling over his forehead in a feral tumble. A well-advanced five-o'clock shadow darkened and softened the hard planes of his face, and his dark eyes were still softened by sleep and sex. He was wonderfully, gloriously nude, backlit by the streaming winter light flooding the windows behind him.

"Morning," he rumbled.

"Hey," she said weakly, her mind still whirling with indecision.

"Listen, I called one of my guys, and he's on his way to see if we can get the SUV out. I'll be out of your way as soon as I can."

"No problem," she squeaked out, then drew in a deeper breath. "You haven't been in the way."

He smiled a slow, lazy smile at that and leaned forward to kiss her lightly on the forehead. "I needed last night, Irish. Thank you."

She nodded her head and looked up at him. "Me, too."

He drew back from her and turned toward the bedroom. Unselfconsciously, he began pulling on last night's clothes, finally sitting on the edge of the bed to pull on his boots. "Listen, I'm going out of town for awhile, and I'll be hard to reach." He deftly pulled a card from his pocket and handed it to her. Rangeman. "If you need anything, Tank can get a message to me. He's one of my managers," he explained at her blank look.

Great. She could call one of his managers. Terrific. She could just see it now. Yes, hello, could I speak with Mr. Tank, please? Who's calling? Well, I'm the woman who had a one-night stand with your boss. Which woman, you say? Which night?

Intentionally schooling her face into a bland mask, she shrugged and pocketed the card in her bathrobe, intending to throw it away as soon as he walked out the door. She might not have a lot of experience at one-night stands, but she was pretty sure it was bad form to leave a business card with instructions to call an employee. Or not. She shrugged again, this time to herself. Maybe it was standard operating procedure and she was just clueless. If that were the case, it was yet another solid argument for her avoiding casual sexual encounters in the future.

Still, she couldn't bring herself to regret last night. He had been nothing short of amazing, and had really helped heal her wounded pride after Joe's blatant and very public rejection. She heard the rumble of a powerful engine approaching and instinctively turned to the front of the house. "That will be Tank," he said unnecessarily. He shrugged into his jacket and ran a slow finger down the side of her face. She shivered despite her resolve not to. "See you, Irish," he smiled over his shoulder and disappeared out the door, closing it with finality behind him. The sound of the engine had long faded away and still she stood rooted to the floor.

"Don't call me Irish," she whispered to nobody.

Chapter 3

"Just shoot me now," Kathleen thought uncharitably as she looked up from the outdated magazine she'd been hiding behind while she sweated bullets in the doctor's waiting room. Long legs that seemed to go on forever and a mass of shimmering brunette hair had resolved itself into the one person Kathleen wanted most to never see again. Well, okay, to be perfectly honest, maybe she wasn't the very last person Kathleen wanted to see, but she was certainly on the top ten list. Joe Morelli's fiancée stood silhouetted in the doorway of the medical office, and Kathleen intentionally scooted herself farther down in the vinyl seat, mentally sending out "stay away" signals, hoping against hope that Stephanie Plum would choose to sit anywhere else. Both of the partners had been called in to the hospital to deliver babies and the resulting backlog of patients, Kathleen among them, had filled the waiting room nearly to capacity. The seat by Kathleen and another chair awkwardly located practically underneath the receptionist's ledge were the only spaces still empty.

Stephanie made a beeline for her, and Kathleen hunkered down behind her magazine again, feigning an intense interest in 101 decorating tips for under $50. The magazine was several years out of date, and the style depicted was one that had never appealed to her in the first place, yet still she persevered determined to shut out Stephanie's presence at all costs.

"Excuse me?"

The voice was quiet but insistent, and reluctantly Kathleen lowered the magazine to her lap and met the other woman's eyes. Bolstering her intestinal fortitude with a deep breath, she forced herself to smile pleasantly and at least make an effort to be civil.

"Yes?" she answered noncommittally.

"Are you Kathleen?" the woman asked. "You may not remember me…."

Kathleen interrupted her. "I remember."

"Oh." The sound came out small, and Kathleen could see Stephanie shrinking in on herself. She felt both guilty and triumphant at once. She'd caused at least some manner of pain for the other woman, cutting her off at the knees like that. Gotten some of her own back. Her heart may not have been broken by losing Joe, but it had been a narrow thing and her pride had sure taken a beating. Looking at the strained face of the woman next to her, Kathleen still felt small and petty for enjoying her momentary triumph at Stephanie's expense. She took a breath to apologize, but Stephanie cut her off.

"I saw you, you know." Stephanie said. At Kathleen's puzzled look, she continued. "On Christmas Eve. I saw you walking in the park with Joe." Stephanie took a deep breath, as if steeling herself. "And I saw the way he looked at you. And I thought, in that moment, that I'd lost him forever." Her eyes glittered with unshed tears, and Kathleen felt her heart soften, in spite of her resolve. "And I wanted to hate you." Stephanie's gaze was direct, unflinching. "But I couldn't. It wasn't your fault that I'd been a fool and let Joe get away. I had no one to blame but myself." She glanced down at her hands worrying the handles of her purse, then looked back up. "I'm just sorry you got hurt because of my stupidity. I apologize, Kathleen."

Well, hell.

How could you hate someone who was so inherently, well, decent? She assumed responsibility for her actions, and even apologized to her fiance's old flame, which had to hurt. She met Stephanie's stare with her own, then sighed reluctantly. "You're making it damned hard for me to hate you here, Stephanie, and I really wanted to."

A ghost of a smile flitted across Stephanie's face and she visibly relaxed. What the hell. Might as well go for broke.

"When I saw you coming up the aisle at Midnight Mass, I wanted the floor to swallow me," Kathleen confided. "And then I saw his face when he turned around to say something to you." She stopped for a minute, the memory etched as clear as if it had just happened instead of more than a month ago. "He looked happy, for the first time since I'd met him, Stephanie. Truly happy, like he was complete. It was a look I never could have given him. Don't ever apologize for following your heart. Just be happy. Joe deserves it."

"Thank you," Stephanie answered. "Joe told me you were a good person. I didn't want to hear it, of course, but he did tell me," she joked.

Kathleen chuckled reluctantly in response. "I hope you two will be happy," she said, still unable to muster up a lot of enthusiasm, but sincere all the same. "So did you set a date yet?" She had come this far, she might as well be polite.

Stephanie blushed and laughed quietly. "After that walk in the park, I wasn't taking any chances," she explained. She looked up and met Kathleen's gaze directly, with no apologies this time. "We hit the courthouse just before closing on New Year's Eve."

Kathleen laughed outright. "Good for you!" she said, and meant it. At Stephanie's confused look, Kathleen explained, "What can I say? I'm a sucker for a happy ending. Joe didn't love me, and you make him happy."

"Thanks, Kathleen," Stephanie said, then her eyes softened, and her expression grew wistful. "I'm hoping I'll have some news for him today," she confided.

"You're pregnant?"

"I think so, yeah."

"Wow. That's great, Stephanie, really great." Kathleen knew she sounded less than enthused, but her own stomach was tied in knots. Stephanie was more lucky than she knew, married to a great guy who was crazy about her, and now a baby on the way. Whereas she—well, she didn't want to think about where she was. Alone and sitting in the doctor's office waiting for the other shoe to drop. Instead of a husband who was crazy about her, she had a wrinkled business card that she'd fished out of the trash at the last possible moment.

"How about you?" Stephanie asked innocently.

Kathleen drew in a fortifying breath. "Pregnancy test. Scared to death," she admitted.

The silence was deafening, and Kathleen darted her eyes toward the other woman. Stephanie's face had gone white, and her knuckles were gripping the arms of the chair in a deathgrip. She finally forced words past her pinched lips. "Does Joe know?"

Kathleen frowned. Why would Joe know? She hadn't seen him since Christmas Eve. She certainly didn't wish him any ill, but she had gone out of her way to avoid him after the debacle at the church. She'd managed to be civil, polite even, with her tattered pride wrapped around her along with her woolen coat as she fled into the teeth of the storm.

"No," she finally answered.

Stephanie nodded stiffly. "If it's all right with you, I'd like to be there when you tell him. The three of us can talk about the details. He's working late tonight, but I think he should know as soon as possible, don't you? No secrets."

Understanding finally dawned on Kathleen. "Oh, no," she said. "No, Stephanie. Oh, God. I never slept with Joe."

"Kathleen, it's okay. I don't have any room to cast stones. I was living with another guy." She deliberately took another fortifying breath. "We can handle this. We're all adults—"

Kathleen interrupted her before she could go any further. "Stephanie, listen to me. I never had sex with Joe." The other woman's face started to lose its waxy pallor. "Believe me, I would have remembered," she joked.

Stephanie laughed a little wildly. "I never asked him," she explained. "I didn't feel like I had any right. I just assumed, well, you know."

"Well, you assumed wrong," Kathleen reassured her.

"Thank God," Stephanie breathed. Her eyes narrowed. "Were you seeing someone else?" she demanded.

Kathleen laughed at this display. While Stephanie was relieved that she and Joe hadn't slept together, she was obviously willing to be offended on his behalf if Kathleen had cheated on him during their time together. "No, Stephanie," she answered. She toyed with the idea of how much to tell the other woman, then decided if anyone needed to know the details it was Stephanie. No more misunderstandings. "Look, the truth is, I met someone when I left the church that night. We were both pretty broken up, and I took him home with me." She averted her gaze, but continued doggedly. "I'm not proud of myself, but that's what happened."

"Does he know?" Stephanie asked after a minute.

Kathleen shook her head. "I'm still hoping there will be nothing for him to know." She looked up into Stephanie's eyes. "You know, nothing's official till you get the word from the doctor, right? Those home tests can be wrong."

Stephanie nodded. "How many did you take?"

"Six," Kathleen answered. "How about you?"

"Just two."

Lucky her.

If there was anything more uncomfortable than having virtual stranger stick his latex covered fingers into your vagina while you laid back and tried to make small talk and pretend that this situation was somehow normal, Kathleen didn't know what it was. She idly tamped down a hysterical giggle at her own thoughts, for fear the doctor would think she was getting some kind of weird thrill from it all.

"Your cervix looks fine, and your uterus is measuring right on target for your dates. You're positive about the date of conception?" Kathleen gritted her teeth. She'd had sex with exactly two men in her entire life, and Bill Finney was five years and an entire continent away. That left Carlos Manoso, Christmas morning, and a condom that had leaked when he'd fallen asleep still buried deep inside her body that last time.

"Positive," she answered, and refused to elaborate.

The doctor nodded sagely, and consulted a plastic chart. "Let's see if we can find a heartbeat today, then, shall we?" Kathleen wasn't sure if the doctor meant that we in the royal sense or not, but it was at least mildly annoying. She usually saw his partner, Dr. Baylor, but Dr. Baylor was still tied up at the hospital with a c-section, so she'd been stuck with Dr. Sims.

"You can do that this early?" Kathleen had been thinking in terms of vaguely amoebic blobs of tissue, not actual heartbeats.

Dr. Sims nodded at her absently. "Oh, yes. Depending on the position of the fetus, of course." He began talking more to himself and his little chart than Kathleen. "First of February," he mused and checked his chart again. "Oh, my yes. Plenty of time for the fetal heartbeat to be audible. Plenty of time."

Dr. Sims pulled out a plastic box that reminded Kathleen vaguely of a tricorder from Star Trek, then squeezed a blob of goo on her belly and seated the box right above her pubic bone. He wiggled it around for a few seconds, which resulted in an ear-bending swoosh before the machine finally settled into a rhythmic pock.

The steady pock seemed to bounce off the corners of the room, and straight into Kathleen's heart. "That's my baby?"

The old doctor's face creased in a smile and he nodded.

"Wow."

"Wow, indeed," he agreed. "I've been practicing thirty-five years, and I never get tired of that sound. It's the sound of life," he added philosophically.

Kathleen couldn't think of a single response, and just nodded. As quickly as it had started, the gentle pocking stopped as the doctor removed the device from her belly. He made short work of handing her a towel to clean off the goo, and started meticulously making notes in her chart.

"Well, then," the doctor was just a little too cheerful, "Everything looks good. You'll need some prenatal vitamins and my nurse can get you some literature to read up on. We'll see you back here in about a month."

The doctor disappeared as quickly as he'd blown in the door, and Kathleen was left with her head spinning. September 17th. Her whole life would change on September 17th. She ran a hand down her still flat abdomen as if her fingers could instigate that gentle pocking sound. She tried to wrap her mind around the idea that a whole other person was growing inside her, had a heartbeat all his or her own. She took a deep breath, and levered herself up off the table and out of the stirrups. Methodically stashing the gown in the linen hamper, she dressed absently, and opened the door on autopilot, her thoughts still churning madly.

Stephanie Morelli was standing at the reception desk when Kathleen rounded the corner. She quickly took a step back before she plowed through the other woman, and Stephanie shot her a brilliant smile over her shoulder. "That would be fine," she said to the receptionist, and quickly stashed her appointment card in her purse. "How's it going?" she asked.

"Fine," said Kathleen, though her voice broke. She cleared her throat. "Everything is fine, thanks," she answered with more bravado and stepped up to make her own appointment. Stephanie paused at the waiting room door as Kathleen's appointment card was duly handed over.

"Joe's working night shift, and I was going to get something to eat before I went home. You look like you could use something. Do you want to join me?" Stephanie sounded uncertain of how her invitation would be received but determined to make it anyway.

Kathleen looked squarely at the other woman. Stephanie's eyes were worried, shadowing the bright, intense blue, but no sign of censure or pity marred her features. Kathleen started to decline, well-used to keeping things to herself. Emotional meltdowns were best handled alone, and she had plenty to mull over tonight. Decisions to make. Instinctively, she wanted to burrow in to her own quiet, safe space and lock out the rest of the world until she could face it again. But somehow, the night seemed long in front of her, with too much time to think, to rethink, to rehash decisions over and over until her mind was as tied up in knots as her stomach had been.

"Yeah," Kathleen heard herself say from far away. "I would, thanks."


End file.
